


My sweet, darling, murderous acquaintance

by LeddyMirth



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Balthus being a stand up guy, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Knight, Enemies to Lovers, Introspection, Jeritza needs a hug, Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Time Skip, Rare Pairings, Romance, or to murder balthus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeddyMirth/pseuds/LeddyMirth
Summary: Jeritza broods over how Balthus saved his life during the battle, wondering how best to silence him. That is until the man in question shows up asking to be friends.The Adrestian army was celebrating their victory on Derdriu, and Jeritza was celebrating his undeath in the most bitter way possible. He stared listlessly into the fire as he ran a whetstone down the blade of his scythe, the flames burning wildly from the sea breeze funnelling through the trees. Each curl of the licks and dim of the ashes carved out the same face: Balthus von Albrecht.
Relationships: Balthazar von Adalbrecht | Balthus von Albrecht/Jeritza von Hrym
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	My sweet, darling, murderous acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evoboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evoboo/gifts).



> A gift for my darling, Boo <3

The crackle of the fire was all Jeritza had for company, save for the odd honk of a seagull flying overhead and the buzzing of the fireflies. If he strained to listen, he could catch the distant chatter and cheers of the festivities from the port town. Some would laugh, some cry, but almost all were likely drunk. Drunk on alcohol, drunk on sorrow, drunk on victory – it mattered not. 

Jeritza preferred to stay well away from the rest of the army after a battle; the hot, blinding rage of his alter ego still tepid beneath each breath. Still not cool or settled. As if he could snap at any moment to take his undeserved pound of flesh from the first unlucky fool to cross his path. Sometimes it took days to retreat from the high. But by the goddess did it feel good _._ Bone achingly _good_. 

The Adrestian army was celebrating their victory on Derdriu, and Jeritza was celebrating his undeath in the most bitter way possible. He stared listlessly into the fire as he ran a whetstone down the blade of his scythe, the flames burning wildly from the sea breeze funnelling through the trees. Each curl of the licks and dim of the ashes carved out the same face: Balthus von Albrecht.

No doubt that blasted man was drinking himself merry at the tavern, boasting about his prowess in battle in the most vulgar way possible. His selflessness, how his thunderous fists had beat many an enemy into the dirt, how he had… saved Jeritza von Hyrm from certain demise. He could picture it: the crowd hanging off every word of his valiant effort, toasting to his triumph. 

Jeritza shuddered. The warmth of the campfire doing nothing to keep the cold trickle of regret at bay. But it was not simply regret. It was seething remorse, one which consumed him since almost falling in that battle. He recalled it vividly as if seared into the backs of his eyelids. Disgusting. The bile rising in his throat at the mere thought. 

He had been ambushed, in the throes of a Death Knight haze upon the docks of Derdriu. Even though he had been outnumbered and flanked, his scythe cut through them all the same. Wyvern wings, armour or flesh, it made no difference. In his frenzy he did not notice – nor would he have cared – about the axe-wielding boy swinging for his head. The lad had missed, of course, swung forward by his momentum. But that did not stop the handle of the weapon from crashing into the back of Jeritza's skull. He still felt it: a humming ache that signalled his weakness like a lighthouse on a fog smothered night. Such a thing would have been a none issue had his helmet not been removed earlier by the Death Knight. 

The cretin desired to taste the salt and blood of the air unobstructed by black steel. 

The blow had dazed him long enough that he was certain the shimmering blade of a silver sword would have been his last glorious sight. To fall in battle. What a delicious end. 

That was, until Balthus von Albrecht.

Out of nowhere, the man bellowed into the fray, setting upon the swordsman like a beast of muscle and brawn. One punch to the face was all it took to have the soldier writhing in agony on the ground, clutching his bloodied face. Then Balthus turned, extending the same hand down in a gesture of friendship, the blood still fresh on his knuckles, a shit-eating grin on his lips and a quip on his tongue. 

Jeritza could not recall what Balthus said, but it was likely something trite. 

The Death Knight had left by that point. No doubt annoyed at himself for letting such a shameful thing happen. 

And Balthus was likely speaking of it at that moment: how he had rescued Jeritza von Hyrm from his certain demise. 

He ran the whetstone across his blade again, the sharp grate a melody no instrument could replicate. 

How could Balthus be silenced, he wondered. 

Remove his head, perhaps? Dead lips did not speak after all, and the pleasure of taking down such a robust, strong opponent would be comparable to sex. Jeritza’s expression darkened. The snap and snare of the Death Knight’s shadow casting through his rotten mind. He almost let out a giddy chuckle, his hands shaking as the thrill of the hunt quickened his blood. 

He wondered how red Balthus’ blood ran. Deep and dark, warm and pooling at Jeritza’s feet. He would not step around it, oh no, he would let it stick to the soles of his boots and wear it dried and congealed like a badge of honour. 

Footsteps on dead leaves approached and Jeritza turned his head to the source, his fist clenching around the hilt of his scythe when the man came into view. _No. Not yet. Savouring it would serve a greater delight,_ the Death Knight rumbled. 

“Hey, Pal,” Balthus said, striding into the light of the fire, sitting upon a tree-stump but an arm's length away. “Took me a while to track you down, been lookin’ for you all over the damn place.” 

Jeritza said nothing, eyes searching the man’s topless frame for a perfect slicing point. Any of it seemed fair game.

“Hope I’m not interrupting your brooding or anythin’. Just thought you’d like some company is all,” Balthus added, his eyes flicking from the scythe then back to Jeritza.

A heavy silence followed, both of the men taut and ready to leap. No doubt Balthus could see the displeasure on his face – he saw no use in hiding it. But Jeritza was curious. 

“Why? Have I ever struck you as the type to desire companionship?” He relaxed his shoulders and Balthus followed suit. 

“Can’t be fun keepin’ to yourself all the time. Someone’s gotta watch your back. I was thinkin’ maybe that person could be me.” 

Jeritza scowled. “Why you would think I need such a thing is beyond me. I do not mix well with people. It is better this way.” 

“Better for who?” Balthus asked, leaning forward. 

“ _Everyone._ ” 

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Why do you even care? Can you not leave me be?”

“Well.. it ain’t the first time we’ve spoken. Thought we were on good terms and all that.”

“Then you are a fool.” 

“I brought you somethin’. Thought it might help with any crazy thoughts rattling around in your head. I’ve stared death in the face way too many times to count. And let me tell you, that shit never gets easy.” He passed Jeritza a glass bottle, corked and labelled. 

“You think alcohol a suitable gift for one who despises the taste? You truly are foolish.” 

_Kill him. Kill him now,_ the Death Knight seethed. 

“It’s peach flavour. Well, peach liqueur if you wanna split hairs – might put some hairs on your chest though! Hah!”

“Peach? How did you -” Of course he knew. This was not the first time the man had brute-forced his way into Jeritza’s company. Balthus always seemed to think him approachable the rare few times he had been in the mess hall on the days they would serve peach sorbet. 

He huffed, setting his scythe aside. 

“You don’t seem to like much. So the stuff you _do_ like is pretty damn obvious.”

The Death Knight prowled beneath his psyche like a stalking tiger, yet not twitching to pounce. In an attempt to drown out his inner demon, Jeritza uncorked the bottle with his teeth before taking a long draught of the smooth, sweet liquor. The texture reminded him of watered-down honey, the taste tart with a faint alcoholic bite. The warmth of it lingered in his chest, far more pleasant and welcome than he expected. 

Balthus lifted his flask in a toast. “To being friends?” 

“To acquaintances,” Jeritza replied with a smirk, clinking their drinks together, enjoying another sip of the fruity nectar. 

To Jeritza’s surprise, the Death Knight snarled before creeping back into the recesses of his mind, like sunlight cast onto a creature of shadow. He would be back, but in the breaths that followed Jeritza quickly became himself again. The bitter anger withered away, replaced by apathy, then relief. Why the Death Knight had not decided to unfurl and descend into fury was unknown. But for a moment Jeritza wondered if he had managed to cast away the demon himself because now he had no desire to harm Balthus. 

“You alright there, pal?” Balthus said, waving a burly hand in front of Jeritza’s face. “Proper zoned out for a sec there.”

“I’m… fine,” he replied, batting away Balthus’ unruly mitt. 

“If you say so. Fuck me, you must be a hell of a lightweight.” 

“It isn’t even in my system yet – oh, that is a tease.” 

Balthus laughed and took another swig from his flask, Jeritza joining him. 

-

Jeritza went to take another sip as his lips quivered with mirth, his brow knitting when only a drop fell from the bottle. 

“Aw, fuck. You all out?” Balthus asked, throwing another log onto the fire.

“Yes… unfortunately.” 

“Well, we can always join the others. There’s much more where that came from!” Balthus clapped a hand on Jeritza’s back.

“Oof! That is not a good idea, and you know it.” Granted, Jeritza felt far more carefree than normal – the idea even sounded good to him – likely the alcohol. But he still could not trust himself. 

“Aw, come on now, don’t go back to being a broody fuck. What? Scared reaper-nuts will rear his ugly face and slaughter us all?” 

“You’d do well not to speak lightly of such things...” 

“There’s nothin’ to worry about, Pal! As I said, I’ll watch your back.”

“No.” 

“Tell you what, the moment that fucker shows himself, I’ll grapple you into a hold.” Balthus flexed and Jeritza blew a laugh in his direction. 

“I highly doubt you could restrain me.” He threw the empty bottle into the fire. 

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet on it?” 

“Yes,” he replied, noticing Balthus’ eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “If you cannot restrain me within ten seconds, then you will go fetch me more of that delicious drink.” 

“And if I do, you join me at the tavern.” 

“Very well.” 

Jeritza stood on wobbly legs, ready to brace himself and begin their duel when Balthus slammed into him with the force of a rolling boulder. He hardly had time to take a breath before his arms were twisted and secured around his back, Balthus pressing them together chest to chest. Jeritza struggled, teeth gritted, trying his damnedest to free himself from the man's steel-tight grip, but he only squeezed tighter. 

“You gave me no warning,” Jeritza almost growled. 

“And I’ll not give that crazy fucker in your head any warning should he bother us at the tavern,” Balthus replied, his breath hot against Jeritza’s cheek. 

It was frustrating, humiliating, but somehow it felt _safe._ Safe from himself. He could not harm anyone in that position and a certain, niggling fear that always haunted him as _Emile_ fell mute. If Balthus truly had his back – as he both literally and figuratively did at that moment – could he indulge? Give himself a taste of the normality and fun of the mundane? 

He froze, meeting Balthus’ gaze and a shit-eating grin as if it were a challenge. “You think you can handle me, you brute?” he asked, bating him. For what he wasn’t sure, but the charge between their bodies was palpable, like lighting striking down his spine. It was akin to giddiness after a hunt. 

His sights trailed down Balthus’ cheek, across his broad jaw before falling upon his lips.

He pushed closer into his chest, all contempt he held but two hours ago dying in the firelight that flickered over the man's face; the fists he fantasised about removing now lifelines holding his body taut. He leaned in and their lips touched, feather-light, testing for even a hint of reciprocation. It sent a shiver through his body. A closeness he did not realise he craved until he was restrained. Unfettered. 

“I think I can handle you just fine,” Balthus mumbled, voice deep and breathy. He slowly released his grip, hands roaming up Jeritza’s back and around his waist, pulling him in again for a deeper kiss. Their tongues mingled, the taste of alcohol and desire. 

Jeritza moved his lips across, nudging Balthus’ cheek to the side as his mouth trailed hot, needy kisses down his neck. He stopped at his pulse point, the feel of his heart pounding, pumping blood beneath his tongue – the very same he had craved to spill. Balthus groaned under his breath and Jeritza stilled, trying to reclaim his lust-drunk thoughts. 

He pulled away a little, chest heaving and mind swimming. “Then we should leave. The sun will rise soon… no doubt the festivities will wane.” 

“We can watch it together if you like. The sunrise, I mean,” Balthus said quietly as they broke the embrace. 

Warmth rushed up to his neck and cheeks. “I… would like that.” 

“Then what are we waitin’ for? Let’s go… Sweet cheeks.” 

“Please refrain from such tart names.” 

“My sweet, darling, murderous acquaintance,” he replied with a dramatic bow. 

“Preferable.” He swallowed a laugh before they extinguished the fire and walked side by side through the forest, first light guiding their steps. Jeritza looked away when he felt one of Balthus’ fingers touch his palm, smiling when he obliged him with a firm hand-hold. 

“You know… For a moment there, when I arrived, I was sure you were gonna try and stab me or somethin’” 

“Perish the thought,” Jeritza replied with a knowing smile.


End file.
